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THE 

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LIBRARY 


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9 


DRAMATIC  POEM. 


I  There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  Horatio 
«  Than  are  dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy," 


BY  LORD  BYRON. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
PUBLISHED  BY  M.  THOMAS. 

J.  MAXWELX,  PRINTBB. 
1817. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Manfred. 
Chamois  Hunter. 
Abbot  of  St.  Maurice. 

Manuel. 
Herman. 

Witch  of  the  Alps. 

Arimanes. 

Nemesis. 

The  Destinies. 

Spirits,  &c. 


The  Scene  of  the  Drama  is  among  th& 
Higher  Alps — partly  in  the  Castle  of 
Manfred,  and  partly  in  the  Mountains. 


MANFRED. 


ACT.  I. 

SCENE  L 


Manfred  alone— Scene,  a  Gothic  gallery~Tme 
Midnight, 

Man.  THE  lamp  must  be  replenish'd,  but  evei 

then 
It  will  not  burn  so  long  as  I  must  watch: 
My  slumbers— if  I  slumber— are  not  sleep* 
But  a  continuance  of  enduring  thought, 
Which  then  I  can  resist  not:  in  my  heart 
There  is  a  vigil,  and  these  eyes  but  close 
To  look  within;  and  yet  I  live,  and  bear 
The  aspect  and  the  form  of  breathing  men. 
But  grief  should  be  the  instructor  of  the  wise; 
Sorrow  is  knowledge:  they  who  know  the  most 
Must  mourn  the  deepest  o'er  the  fatal  truth, 
The  Tree  of  Knowledge  is  not  that  of  Life, 


*  MANFRED. 

Philosophy  and  science,  and  the  springs 
Of  wonder,  and  the  wisdom  of  the  world 
C  have  essayed,  and  in  my  mind  there  is 
A  power  to  make  these  subject  to  itself— 
But  they  avail  not:  I  have  done  men  good, 
And  I  have  met  with  good  even  among  men— 
But  this  avail'd  not:  I  have  had  my  foes, 
Ind  none  have  baffled,  many  fallen  before  me- 
ant this  avail'd  not:— Good,  or  evil,  life, 
Powers,  passions,  all  I  see  in  other  beings, 
lave  been  to  me  as  rain  unto  the  sands, 
>ince  that  all-nameless  hour.     I  have  no  dread 
Lnd  feel  the  curse  to  have  no  natural  fear 
for  fluttering  throb,  that  beats  with  hopes  or 
wishes, 

>r  lurking  love  of  something  on  the  earth 

row  to  my  task,  — 

Mysterious  Agency! 
e  spirits  of  the  unbounded  Universe! 

Hiom  I  have  sought  in  darkness  and  in  light 

e,  who  do  compass  earth  about,  and  dwell 
i  subtler  essence — ye,  to  whom  the  tops 
f  mountains  inaccessible  are  haunts, 

nd  earth's  and  ocean's  caves  familiar  things 

call  upon  ye  by  the  written  charm 

rhich  gives  me  power  upon  you— Rise!  appear! 

[Apame. 
iey  come  not  yet.— Now  by  the  voice  of  him 
ho  is  the  first  among  you — by  this  sign, 


MANFRED.  y 

Which  makes  you  tremble — by  the  claims  of  him 

Who  is  undying,— Rise!  appear! Appear! 

[A  pause, 
If  it  be  so. — Spirits  of  earth  and  air, 
Ye  shall  not  thus  elude  me:  by  a  power, 
Deeper  than  all  yet  urged,  a  tyrant-spell, 
Which  had  its  birth-place  in  a  star-condemn'd. 
The  burning  wreck  of  a  demolish'd  world, 
A  wandering  hell  in  the  eternal  space; 
By  the  strong  curse  which  is  upon  my  soul, 
The  thought  which  is  within  me  and  around  me, 
I  do  compel  ye  to  my  will. — Appear! 

[A  star  is  seen  at  the  darker  end  of  the  gallery;  \ 
is  stationary;  and  a  voice  is  heard  singing.] 

^  First  Spirit. 
Mortal!  to  thy  bidding  bow'd; 
From  my  mansion  in  the  cloud, 
Which  the  breath  of  twilight  builds, 
And  the  summer's  sun-set  gilds 
With  the  azure  and  vermilion, 
Which  is  mix'd  for  my  pavilion; 
Though  thy  quest  may  be  forbidden. 
On  a  star-beam  I  have  ridden; 
To  thine  adjuration  bow'd, 
Mortal — be  thy  wish  avow'd! 

Voice  of  the  Second  Spirit. 
Mont  Blanc  is  the  monarch  of  mountains, 
They  crowned  him  long  ago 
A  2 


MANFRED. 

On  a  throne  of  rocks,  in  a  robe  of  clouds, 

With  a  diadem  of  snow. 
Around  his  waist  are  forests  braced, 

The  Avalanche  in  his  hand; 
But  ere  it  fall,  that  thundering'  ball 

Must  pause  for  my  command. 
The  Glacier's  cold  and  restless  mass 

Moves  onward  day  by  day; 
But  I  am  he  who  bids  it  pass, 

Or  with  its  ice  delay. 
I  am  the  spirit  of  the  place, 

Could  make  the  mountain  bow 
And  quiver  to  his  cavern'd  base — 

And  what  with  me  wouldst  Thou? 

Voice  of  the  Third  Spirit. 
In  the  blue  depth  of  the  waters, 

Where  the  wave  hath  no  strife, 
Where  the  wind  is  a  stranger, 

And  the  sea-snake  hath  life, 
Where  the  Mermaid  is  decking 

Her  green  hair  with  shells; 
Like  the  storm  on  the  surface 

Came  the  sound  of  thy  spells; 
O'er  my  calm  Hall  of  Coral 

The  deep  echo  rolTd — 
To  the  Spirit  of  Ocean 

Thy  wishes  unfold! 


MANFRED 

Fourth  Spirtt. 
Where  the  slumbering  earthquake 

Lies  pillow'd  on  fire, 
And  the  lakes  of  bitumen 

Rise  boilingly  higher; 
Where  the  roots  of  the  Andes 

Strike  deep  in  the  earth, 
As  their  summits  to  heaven 

Shoot  soaringly  forth; 
I  have  quitted  my  birth-place, 

Thy  bidding  to  bide — 
Thy  spell  hath  subdued  me, 

Thy  will  be  my  guide! 

Fifth  Spirit. 
I  am  the  Rider  of  the  wind, 

The  Stirrer  of  the  storm; 
The  hurricane  I  left  behind 

Is  yet  with  lightning  warm; 
To  speed  to  thee,  o'er  shore  and  sea 

I  swept  upon  the  blast: 
The  fleet  I  met  sailed  well,  and  yet 

'Twill  sink  ere  night  be  past. 

Sixth  Spirit. 
My  dwelling  is  the  shadow  of  the  night, 
Why  doth  thy  magic  torture  me  with  light? 


12  MANFRED. 

Seventh  Spirit. 
The  star  which  rules  thy  destiny, 
Was  ruled,  ere  earth  began,  by  me: 
It  was  a  world  as  fresh  and  fair 
As  e'er  revolved  round  sun  in  air; 
Its  course  was  free  and  regular, 
Space  bosom'dnot  a  lovelier  star. 
The  hour  arrived — and  it  became 
A  wandering  mass  of  shapeless  flame, 
A  pathless  comet,  and  a  curse, 
The  menace  of  the  universe; 
Still  rolling  on  with  innate  force, 
Without  a  sphere,  without  a  course, 
A  bright  deformity  on  high, 
The  monster  of  the  upper  sky! 
And  thou!  beneath  its  influence  born — 
Thou  worm!  whom  I  obey  and  scorn — 
Forced  by  a  power  (which  is  not  thine, 
•  And  lent  thee  but  to  make  thee  mine) 
For  this  brief  moment  to  descend, 
Where  these  weak  spirits  round  thee  bend 
And  parley  with  a  thing  like  thee — 
What  wouldst  thou,  Child  of  Clay!  with  me? 

The  Seven  Spirits. 
Sarth,  ocean,  air,  night,  mountains,  winds,  thy  star, 

Are  at  thy  beck  and  bidding,  Child  of  Clay! 
Before  thee  at  thy  quest  their  spirits  are — 

What  wouldst  thou  with  us,  son  of  mortals — say: 


MANJFRED. 


Man.  Forgetfulness *  _         ^ 

First  Spirit.  Of  what-of  whom-and  why? 
Man.  Of  that  which  is  within  me;  readit  there— 
Ye  know  it,  and  I  cannot  utter  it. 

Smbit.  We  can  but  give  thee  that  which  we 
possess: 
Ask  of  us  subjects,  sovereignty,  the  power 
O'er  earth,  the  whole,  or  portion,  or  a  sign 
Which  shall  control  the  elements,  whereof 
We  are  the  dominators,  each  and  all, 
These  shall  be  thine. 

Man.  Oblivion,  self-oblivion- 
Can  ye  not  wring  from  out  the  hidden  realms 
Ye  offer  so  profusely  what  I  ask? 

Spirit.  It  is  not  in  our  essence,  in  our  skill; 
But— thou  mayst  die. 

Man.  Will  death  bestow  it  on  me? 
Spirit.  We  are  immortal,  and  do  not  forget; 
We  are  eternal;  and  to  us  the  past 
Is,  as  the  future,  present.     Art  thou  answered? 
Man.   Ye  mock  me-but  the  power  whic 
brought  ye  here 
Hath  made  you  mine.  Slaves,  scoffnot  at  my  wil 
The  mind,  the  spirit,  the  Promethean  spark, 
The  lightning  of  my  being,  is  as  bright, 
Pervading,  and  far-darting  as  your  own 
And  shall  not  yield  to  yours,  thoughcoop  d  in  cla 
Answer,  or  I  will  teach  ye  what  I  am. 

Spirit.  We  answer  as  we  answered;  ourrej 


14  MANFRED. 

Is  even  in  thine  own  words. 

**  Why  say  ve  so? 

Spirit.  If,  as  thou  say'st,  thine  essence  be  as 
ours, 

We  have  replied  in  telling  thee,  the  thing 
Mortals  call  death  hath  nought  to  do  with  us. 
Man.  I  then  have  call'd  ye  from  your  realms 
in  vain; 
Ye  cannot,  or  ye  will  not,  aid  me. 

Spirit.  Say. 

What  we  possess  we  offer;  it  is  thine: 

Bethink  ere  thou  dismiss  us,  ask  again 

Kingdom,  and  sway,  and  strength,  and  length  of 

days- 

Man.  Accursed!  what  have  I  to  do  with  days? 
rhey  are  too  long  already.— Hence— begone! 
Spirit.  Yet  pause:  being  here,  our  will  would 
do  thee  service; 
Jethink  thee,  is  there  then  no  other  gift 
Yhich  we  can  make  not  Worthless  in  thine  eyes? 
'Man.  No,  none:  yet  stay— one  moment,  ere 

we  part — 
would  behold  ye  face  to  face.     I  hear 
rour  voices,  sweet  and  melancholy  sounds, 
ls  music  on  the  waters;  and  I  see 
Tie  steady  aspect  of  a  clear  large  star; 
!ut  nothing  more.     Approach  me  as  ye  are, 
>r  one,  or  all,  in  your  accustom'd  forms. 
Spirit.  We  have  no  forms  beyond  the  elements 


MANFRED.  15 

Of  which  we  are  the  mind  and  principle: 
But  choose  a  form— in  that  we  will  appear. 
Man.  I  have  no  choice;  there  is  no  form  on 
earth 
Hideous  or  beautiful  to  me.     Let  him, 
Who  is  most  powerful  of  ye,  take  such  aspect 
As  unto  him  may  seem  most  fitting.— Come! 
Seventh  Spirit.  (Appearing  in  the  shape  of  a 

beautiful  female  figure.)  Behold! 
Man.  Oh  God!  if  it  be  thus,  and  thou 
Art  not  a  madness  and  a  mockery, 
I  yet  might  be  most  happy.— I  will  clasp  thee, 

And  we  again  will  be [The  figure  vanishes. 

My  heart  is  crush'd! 

[Manfred  falls  senseless. 

(A  voice  is  heard  in  the  Incantation  which  follows.) 

When  the  moon  is  on  the  wave, 
And  the  glow-worm  in  the  grass, 

And  the  meteor  on  the  grave, 
And  the  wisp  on  the  morass; 

When  the  falling  stars  are  shooting, 
And  the  answer'd  owls  are  hooting, 
And  the  silent  leaves  are  still 
In  the  shadow  of  the  hill, 
Shall  my  soul  be  upon  thine, 
With  a  power  and  with  a  sign. 


MANFRED. 

Though  thy  slumber  may  be  deep, 

Yet  thy  spirit  shall  not  sleep, 

There  are  shades  which  will  not  vanish, 

There  are  thoughts  thou  canst  not  banish; 

By  a  power  to  thee  unknown, 

Thou  canst  never  be  alone; 

Thou  art  wrapt  as  with  a  shroud, 

Thou  art  gathered  in  a  cloud; 

And  for  ever  shalt  thou  dwell 

In  the  spirit  of  this  spell. 

Though  thou  seest  me  not  pass  by, 
Thou  shalt  feel  me  with  thine  eye 
As  a  thing  that,  though  unseen, 
Must  be  near  thee,  and  hath  been; 
And  when  in  that  secret  dread 
Thou  hast  turn'd  around  thy  head,  - 
Thou  shalt  marvel  I  am  not 
As  thy  shadow  on  the  spot, 
And  the  power  which  thou  dost  feel 
Shall  be  what  thou  must  conceal. 

And  a  magic  voice  and  verse 
Hath  baptized  thee  with  a  curse; 
And  a  spirit  of  the  air 
Hath  begirt  thee  with  a  snare; 
In  the  wind  there  is  a  voice 
Shall  forbid  thee  to  rejoice; 


MANFRED.  17 

And  to  these  shall  Night  deny- 
All  the  quiet  of  her  sky; 
And  the  day  shall  have  a  sun, 
Which  shall  make  thee  wish  it  done. 

From  thy  false  tears  I  did  distil 
An  essense  which  hath  strength  to  kill; 
From  thy  own  heart  I  then  did  wring 
The  black  blood  in  its  blackest  spring; 
From  thy  own  smile  I  snatch'd  the  snake, 
For  there  it  coil'd  as  in  a  brake; 
From  thy  own  lip  I  drew  the  charm 
Which  gave  all  these  their  chiefest  harm; 
In  proving  every  poison  known, 
I  found  the  strongest  was  thine  own. 

By  thy  cold  breast  and  serpent  smile, 

By  thy  unfathom'd  gulfs  of  guile, 

By  that  most  seeming  virtuous  eye, 

By  thy  shut  soul's  hypocrisy; 

By  the  perfection  of  thine  art 

Which  pass'd  for  human  thine  own  heart; 

By  thy  delight  in  others'  pain, 

And  by  thy  brotherhood  of  Cain, 

I  call  upon  thee!  and  compel 

Thyself  to  be  thy  proper  hell! 

And  on  thy  head  I  pour  the  vial 
Which  doth  devote  thee  to  this  trial; 


18  MANFRED. 

Nor  to  slumber,  nor  to  die, 

Shall  be  in  thy  destiny; 

Though  thy  death  shall  still  seem  near 

To  thy  wish,  but  as  a  fear; 

Lo!  the  spell  now  works  around  thee, 

And  the  clankless  chain  hath  bound  thee; 

O'er  thy  heart  and  brain  together 

Hath  the  word  been  pass'd — now  wither! 

SCENE  II. 

The  Mountain  of  the  Jungfrau. — Time,  Morn- 
ing.— Manfred  alone  upon  the  Cliffs. 

Man.  The  spirits  I  have  raised  abandon  me— 
The  spells  which  I  have  studied  baffle  me — 
The  remedy  I  reck'd  of  tortured  me; 
I  lean  no  more  on  super-human  aid, 
It  hath  no  power  upon  the  past,  and  for 
The  future,  till  the  past  be  gulf 'd  in  darkness, 
It  is  not  of  my  search. — My  mother  Earth! 
And  thou,  fresh  breaking  Day,  and  you,  ye  Moun- 
tains, 
Why  are  ye  beautiful?     I  cannot  love  ye. 
And  thou,  the  bright  eye  of  the  universe, 
That  openest  over  all,  and  unto  all 
Art  a  delight — thou  shin'st  not  on  my  heart. 
And  you,  ye  crags,  upon  whose  extreme  edge  * 
I  stand,  and  on  the  torrent's  brink  beneath 
Behold  the  tall  pines  dwindled  as  to  shrubs 


19 

MANFRED* 


I  dizziness  of  distance;  when  a  leap, 

1  stir,  a  motion,  even  a  breath,  would  bring 

My  breast  upon  its  rocky  bosom's  bed 

Fo  rest  for  ever— wherefore  do  I  pause. 

[feel  the  impulse— yet  I  do  not  plunge; 

[seethe  peril-yet  do  not  recede; 

And  my  brain  reels-and  yet  my  foot  is  firm: 

There  is  a  power  upon  me  which  withholds 

And  makes  it  my  fatality  to  live; 

If  it  be  life  to  wear  within  myself 

This  barrenness  of  spirit,  and  to  be 

My  own  soul's  sepulchre,  for  I  have  ceased 

To  justify  my  deeds  unto  myself— 

The  last  infirmity  of  evil.     Ay, 

Thou  winged  and  cloud-cleaving  minister, 

luou        8  [An  eagle  passes. 

Whose  happy  night  is  highest  into  neaven, 
Well  may'st  thou  swoop  so  near  me-I  should  be 
Thy  prey,   and  gorge  thine  eaglets;  thou  ar1 

WherTtheeye  cannot  follow  thee;  but  thine 

Yet  pierces  downward,  onward,  or  above 

With  a  pervading  vision.— Beautiful! 

How  beautiful  is  all  this  visible  world. 

How  fflorious  in  its  action  and  itself, 

But  we,  who  name  ourselves  its  sovereigns,  w 

Half  dust,  half  deity,  alike  unfit 

To  sink  or  soar,  with  our  mix'd  essence  make 

A  conflict  of  its  elements,  and  breathe 


2°  MANFRED. 

The  breath  of  degradation  and  of  pride, 
Contending-  with  low  wants  and  lofty  will 
Till  our  mortality  predominates, 
And  men  are— what  they  name  not  to  them 

selves, 

And  trust  not  to  each  other.     Hark!  the  note, 

[The  Shepherd's  pipe  in  the  distance  is  hecird 
The  natural  music  of  the  mountain  reed— 
For  here  the  patriarchal  days  are  not 
A  pastoral  fable—pipes  in  the  liberal  air, 
Mix'd  with  the  sweet  bells  of  the  sauntering 
herd;  M 

My  soul  would  drink  those  echoes Oh,  that  1 

were 
The  viewless  spirit  of  a  lovely  sound, 
A  living  voice,  a  breathing  harmony, 
A  bodiless  enjoyment— born  and  dying 
With  the  West  tone  which  made  me! 

Enter  from  below  a  Chamois  Hunter. 
Chamois  Hunter.  Even  so 

This  way  the  chamois  leapt:  her  nimble  feet 
Have  baffled  me;  my  gains  to-day  will  scarce 
Repay  my  break-neck  travail.— What  is  here* 
WTio  seems  not  of  my  trade,  and  yet  hath  reach'd 
1  height  which  none  even  of  our  mountaineers, 
Save  our  best  hunters,  may  attain:  his  garb 
s  goodly,  his  mien  manly,  and  his  air 
>roud  as  a  free-born  peasant's,  at  this  distance.— 


MANFRED.  2i 

will  approach  him  nearer. 
Man.  {not  perceiving  the  other.)  To  be  thus — 
Jrey-hair'dwith  anguish,  like  these  blasted  pines, 
Wrecks  of  a  single  winter,  barkless,  branchless, 
h.  blighted  trunk  upon  a  cursed  root, 
Which  but  supplies  a  feeling  to  decay — 
And  to  be  thus,  eternally  but  thus, 
Having  been  otherwise!  Now  furrow'd  o'er 
With  wrinkles,  plough'd  by    moments,  not  by 

years; 
And  hours — all  tortured  into  ages — hours 
Which  I  outlive!— ye  toppling  crags  of  ice! 
Ye  avalanches,  whom  a  breath  draws  down 
In  mountainous  o'erwhelming,  come  and  crush 

me! 
I  hear  ye  momently  above,  beneath, 
Crash  with  a  frequent  conflict;  but  ye  pass, 
And  only  fall  on  things  which  still  would  live; 
On  the  young  flourishing  forest,  or  the  hut 
And  hamlet  of  the  harmless  villager. 

C.  Hun.  The  mists  begin  to  rise  from  up  the 
valley; 
I'll  warn  him  to  descend,  or  he  may  chance 
To  lose  at  once  his  way  and  life  together. 

Man.  The  mists  boil  up  aiound  the  glaciers; 
clouds 
Rise  curling  fast  beneath  me,  white  and  sulphury, 
Like  foam  from  the  roused  ocean  of  deep  Hell, 
Whose  every  wave  breaks  on  a  living  shore, 


22 


MANFRED. 


Heaped  with  the  damn'd  like  pebbles I  ar 

giddy. 

C.  Hun.  I  must  approach  him  cautiously;  i 
near, 
A  sudden  step  will  startle  him,  and  he 
Seems  tottering  already. 

Man.  Mountains  have  fallen, 

Leaving  a  gap  in  the  clouds,  and  with  the  shock 
Rocking  their  Alpine  brethren;  filling  up 
The  ripe  green  valleys  with  destruction's  splin 

ters; 
Damming  the  rivers  with  a  sudden  dash, 
Which  crush'd  the  waters  into  mist,  and  made 
Their  fountains  find  another  channel — thus, 
Thus,  in  its  old  age,  did  Mount  Rosenberg — 
Why  stood  I  not  beneath  it? 

C.  Hun.  Friend!  have  a  care, 

Your  next  step  may  be  fatal!— For  the  love 
Of  him  who  made  you,  stand  not  on  that  brink! 
Man.    (JVot  hearing  him.)  Such  would  have 
been  for  me  a  fitting  tomb; 
My  bones  had  then  been  quiet  in  their  depth; 
They  had  not  then  been  strewn  upon  the  rocks 
For  the  wind's  pastime — as  thus — thus  thev  shall 

be- 
In  this  one  plunge. — Farewell,  ye  opening  hea- 
vens! 
Look  not  upon  me  thus  reproachfully — 


MANFRED.  '23 

JTe  were  not  meant  for  me— Earth  take  these 

atoms!  ;^  -         , - 

Ms  Manfred  is  in  aet  to  spring  from  the 
cliff,  the  Chamois  Hunter  seizes  and 
retains  him  with  a  sudden  grasp.) 
C.  Hun.  Hold,  madman!— though  aweary  of 

thy  life,  ,  ,,    ,,      -, 

Stain  not  our  pure  vales  with  thy  guilty  blood— 

Away  with  me 1  will  not  quit  my  hold. 

Man.  I  am  most  sick  at  heart— nay,  grasp  me 

not—  . 

I  am  all  feebleness-the  mountains  whirl 
Spinning  around  me-I  grow  blmd-What   art 

thou?  .  .  , 

C.  Hun.  I'll  answer  that  anon.— Away  with 

me —  . 

The  clouds  grow  thicker-there-now  lean  on 

Plac^^r  foot  here— here,  take  this  staff,  and 

cling 
A  moment  to  that  shrub-now  give  me  yom 

hand, 
And  hold  fast  by  my  girdle-softly-well- 
The  Chalet  will  be  gained  within  an  hour- 
Come  on,  we'll  quickly  find  a  surer  footing, 
And  something  like  a  pathway,  which  the  torrer 
Hath'd  wash'd  since  winter—Come,  'tis  brave) 

done^- 


24  MANFRED. 

You  should  have  been  a  hunter.— Follow  me. 

{As  they  descend  the  rocks  with  difficulty 
the  scene  closes.) 


END   OF    ACT    THE    F1BST. 


ACT    II. 

SCENE  I. 

A  Cottage  amongst  the  Bernese  Alps. 

Manfred  and  the  Chamois  Hunter. 

C.  Hun.  No,  no — yet  pause— thou  must  not 
yet  go  forth: 
Thy  mind  and  body  are  unlike  unfit 
To  trust  each  other,  for  some  hours  at  least; 
When  thou  art  better,  I  will  be  thy  guide — 
But  whither? 

Man.  It  imports  not:  I  do  know 

My  route  full  well,  and  need  no  further  guidance,, 

C.  Hun*  Thy  garb  and  gait  bespeak  thee  of 
high  lineage — 
One  of  the  many  chiefs,  whose  castled  crags 
Look  o'er  the  lower  valleys — which  of  these 
May  call  thee  Lord?  I  only  know  their  portals; 
My  way  of  life  leads  me  but  rarely  down 
To  bask  by  the  huge  hearths  of  those  old  halls, 
Carousing  with  the  vassals;  but  the  paths, 
Which  step  from  out  our  mountains  to  their  doors> 
I  know  from  childhood— which  of  these  is  thine? 


26  MANFRRB. 

Man.  No  matter. 

C.  Hun.  Well,  sir,  pardon  me  the  question, 
And  be  of  better  cheer.     Come,  taste  my  wine; 
'Tis  of  an  ancient  vintage;  many  a  day 
'T  has  thawed  my  veins  among  our  glaciers,  now 
Let  it  do  thus  for  thine — Come,  pledge  me  fairly. 
Man.  Away,  away!    there's  blood   upon  the 
brim! 
Will  it  then  never— never  sink  in  the  earth? 
C.  Hun.  What  dost  thou  mean?  thy  senses 
wander  from  thee. 
Man.  I  say  'tis  blood — my  blood!  the  pure  warm 
stream 
Which  ran  in  the  veins  of  my  fathers,  and  in  ours 
When  we  were  in  our  youth,  and  had  one  heart, 
And  loved  each  other  as  we  should  not  love, 
And  this  was  shed:  but  still  it  rises  up, 
Colouring  the  clouds,  that  shut  me  out  from  hea- 
ven, 
Where  thou  art  not—and  I  shall  never  be. 
C.  Hun.  Man  of  strange  words,  and  some  hal 
maddening  sin, 
Which  makes  thee  people  vacancy,  what'er 
Thy  dread  and  sufferance  be,  there's  comfort  yet- 
The  aid  of  holy  men,  and  heavenly  patience — 
Man.  Patience  and  patience!   Hence— tha 
word  was  made 
For  brutes  of  burthen,  not  for  birds  of  prey; 
Preach  it  to  mortals  of  a  dust  like  thine,— 
I  am  not  of  thine  order. 


MANFRED.  27 

C.  Hun.  Thanks  to  heaven! 

I  would  not  be  of  thine  for  the  free  fame 
Of  William  Tell;  but  whatso'er  thine  ill, 
It  must  be  borne,  and  these  wild  starts  are  use- 
less. 
Man.  Do  I  not  bear  it? — look  on  me — I  live. 
C.  Hun.  This  is  convulsion,  and  no  healthful 

life. 
Man.  I  tell  thee,  man!  I  have  lived   many 
years, 
Many  long-  years,  but  they  are  nothing1  now 
To  those  which  I  must  number:  ages—  ages — 
Space  and  eternity — and  consciousness, 
iiVith  the  fierce  thirst  of  death — and  still  un- 
slaked! 
C.  Hun.  Why,  on  thy  brow  the  seal  of  middle 
age 
Hath  scarce  been  set;  I  am  thine  elder  far. 
Man.  Think'st  thou  existence  doth  depend  on 
time? 
[t  doth;  but  actions  are  our  epochs:  mine 
Have  made  my  days  and  nights  imperishable, 
Endless,  and  all  alike,  as  sands  on  the  shore, 
Innumerable  atoms;  and  one  desert, 
Barren  and  cold,  on  which  the  wild  waves  break, 
But  nothing-  rests,  save  carcases  and  wrecks, 
Rocks  and  the  salt-surf  weeds  of  bitterness. 
C.  Hun.  Alas!  he's  mad— but  yet  I  must  not 
leave  him. 


28  MANFRED. 

Man.    I  would  I  were — for  then  the  things  I 
see 
Would  be  but  a  distempered  dream. 

C.  Hun.  What  is  it 

That  thou  dost  see,  or  think  thou  look'st  upon? 
Man.    Myself,    and  thee — a  peasant  of  the 
Alps — 
Thy  humble  virtues,  hospitable  home, 
And  spirit  patient,  pious,  proud  and  free; 
Thy  self-respect,  grafted  on  innocent  thoughts; 
Thy  days  of  health,  and  nights  of  sleep;  thy  toils, 
By  danger  dignified,  yet  guiltless;  hopes 
Of  cheerful  old  age  and  a  quiet  grave, 
With  cross  and  garland  over  its  green  turf, 
And  thy  grandchildren's  love  for  epitaph; 
This  do  I  see — and  then  I  look  within — 
It  matters  not — my  soul  was  scorch'd  already! 
C.  Hun.  And  would'st  thou  then  exchange  thy 

lot  for  mine? 
Man.  No,  friend!  I  would  not  wrong  thee,  noi 
exchange 
My  lot  with  living  being:  I  can  bear — 
How  ever  wretchedly,  'tis  still  to  bear — 
In  life  what  others  could  not  brook  to  dream, 
But  perish  in  their  slumber. 

C.  Hun.  And  with  this— 

This  cautious  feeling  for  another's  pain, 
Canst  thou  be  black  with  evil?— say  not  st. 


MANFRED.  29 

Can  one  of  gentle  thoughts  have  wreak'd  re- 
venge 
Upon  his  enemies? 

Man.  Oh!  no,  no,  no! 

My  injuries  came  down  on  those  who  loved  me— 
On  those  whom  I  best  loved;  I  never  quell'd 
An  enemy,  save  in  my  just  defence— 
But  my  embrace  was  fatal. 

C.  Hun.  Heaven  give  thee  rest! 

And  penitence  restore  thee  to  thyself; 
My  prayers  shall  be  for  thee. 

Man.  I  need  them  not, 

But  can  endure  thy  pity.     I  depart— 
'Tis  time— farewell!— Here's  gold,  and  thanks 

for  thee — 
No  words — it  is  thy  due. — -Follow  me  not — 
I  know  my  path — the  mountain  peril's  past:— 
And  once  again,  I  charge  thee,  follow  not! 

[Exit  Manfred. 

SCENE  II. 

A  lower  Valley  in  the  Alps. — A  Cataract. 

Enter  Manfred. 
It  is  not  noon — the  sunbow's  rays  still  arch 
The  torrent  with  the  many  hues  of  heaven, 
And  roll  the  sheeted  silver's  waving  column 
O'er  the  crag's  headlong  perpendicular, 


10  MANFRED. 

ind  fling-  its  lines  of  foaming*  light  along', 
ind  to  and  fro,  like  the  nale  courser's  tail, 
Hie  Giant  steed,  to  be  bestrode  by  Death, 
Is  told  in  the  Apocalypse.     No  eyes 
3ut  mine  now  drink  this  sight  of  loveliness; 
should  be  sole  in  this  sweet  solitude, 
Ind  with  the  Spirit  of  the  place  divide 
Hie  homage  of  these  waters. — I  will  call  her. 

(Manfred  takes  some  of  the  water  into  the 
palm  of  his  hand,  andjiings  it  in  the 
air,  muttering  the  adjuration.     After 
a  pause,  the  Witch  dp  the  Alps  ri- 
ses beneath  the  arch  of  the  sunbeam  of 
the  torrent.) 
Man.  Beautiful  Spirit!  with  thy  hair  of  light, 
Lnd  dazzling  eyes  of  glory,  in  whose  form 
Phe  charms  of  Earth's  least-mortal  daughters 

grow 
?o  an  unearthly  stature,  in  an  essence 
)f  purer  elements;  while  the  hues  of  youth, — 
^arnation'd  like  a  sleeping  infant's  cheek, 
tock'd  by  the  beating  of  her  mother's  heart, 
)r  the  rose  tints,  which  summer's  twilight  leaves  ; 
Jpon  the  lofty  glacier's  virgin  snow, 
^he  blush  of  earth  embracing  with  her  heaven, 
!inge  thy  celestial  aspect,  and  make  tame 
lie  beauties  of  the  sunbow  which  bends  o'er 

thee.  I 

Jeautiful  Spirit!  in  thy  calm  clear  brow, 


) 


MANFREB.  31 

Wherein  is  glass'd  serenity  of  soul, 

Which  of  itself  shows  immortality, 

I  read  that  thou  wilt  pardon  to  a  Son 

Of  Earth,  whom  the  abstruser  powers  permit* 

At  times  to  commune  with  them — if  that  he 

Avail  him  of  his  spells— to  call  thee  thus,        I 

And  gaze  on  thee  a  moment. 

Witch.  Son  of  Earth! 

I  know  thee,  and  the  powers  which  give  thee 
power; 

I  know  thee  for  a  man  of  many  thoughts, 

And  deeds  of  good  and  ill,  extreme  in  both, 

Fatal  and  fated  in  thy  sufferings. 

I  have  expected  this— what  wouldst  thou  with 

me? 
Man.  To  look  upon  thy  beauty— nothing  fur- 
ther. 
The  face  of  the  earth  hath  madden'd  me,  and  I 
Take  refuge  in  her  mysteries,  and  pierce 
To  the  abodes  of  those  wbo  govern  her — 
But  they  can  nothing  aid  me.     I  have  sought 
From  them  what  they  could  not  bestow,  and  no* 
I  search  no  further. 

Witch.  What  could  be  the  quest 
Which  is  not  in  the  power  of  the  most  powerful 
The  rulers  of  the  invisible? 

Man.  a  D00n; 

But  why  should  I  repeat  it?  'twere  in  vain, 

Witch.  I  know  not  that;  let  thy  lips  utter  it. 


32 


MANFRED. 


Man.  Well,  though  it  torture  me,  'tis  but  the 
same; 
My  pang-  shall  find  a  voice.  From  my  youth  up- 
wards 
My  spirit  walk'd  not  with  the  souls  of  men, 
Nor  look'd  upon  the  earth  with  human  eyes; 
rhe  thirst  of  their  ambition  was  not  mine, 
rhe  aim  of  their  existence  was  not  mine: 
My  joys,  my  griefs,  my  passions,  and  my  powers, 
Vlade  me  a  stranger;  though  I  wore  the  form, 
had  no  sympathy  with  breathing  flesh, 
for  midst  the  creatures  of  clay  that  girded  me 

tfas  there  but  one  who but  of  her  anon. 

said,  with  men,  and  with  the  thoughts  of  men, 
held  but  slight  communion;  but  instead, 
^y  joy  was  in  the  Wilderness,  to  breathe 
rhe  difficult  air  of  the  iced  mountain's  top, 
Vhere  the  birds  dare  not  build,  nor  insect's  wing 
"lit  o'er  the  herbless  granite;  or  to  plunge 
nto  the  torrent,  and  to  roll  along 
)n  the  swift  whirl  of  the  new  breaking  wave 
)f  riFer-stream,  or  ocean,  in  their  flow, 
ti  these  my  early  strength  exulted;  or 
\>  follow  through  the  night  the  moving  moon, 
'he  stars  and  their  development;  or  catch 
'he  dazzling  lightnings  till  my  eyes  grew  dim; 
>r  to  look,  list'ning,  on  the  scattered  leaves, 
Vhile  Autumn  winds  were  at  their  evening  song. 
I'hese  were  my  pastimes,  and  to  be  alone: 


MANFRED. 

Tor  if  the  beings,  of  whom  I  was  one,— 

Hating  to  be  so,— cross'd  me  in  my  path, 

I  felt  myself  degraded  back  to  them, 

And  was  all  clay  again.     And  then  I  dived. 

In  my  lone  wanderings,  to  the  caves  of  death, 

Searching  its  cause  in  its  effect;  and  drew 

From  withered  bones,  and  skulls,  and  heap  d  uj 

dust,  ■  ,, 

Conclusions  most  forbidden.     Then  I  pass  d 
The  nights  of  years  in  sciences  untaught, 
Save  in  the  old-time;  and  with  time  and  toil, 
And  terrible  ordeal,  and  such  penance 
As  in  itself  hath  power  upon  the  air, 
And  spirits  that  do  compass  air  and  earth, 
Space,  and  the  peopled  infinite,  I  made 
Mine  eyes  familiar  with  Eternity, 
Such  as,  before  me  did  the  Magi,  and 
He  who  from  out  their  fountain  dwellings  raise 
Eros  and  Anteros,  at  Gadara, 
As  I  do  thee;— and  with  my  knowledge  grew 
The  thirst  of  knowledge,  and  the  power  and  J03 

Of  this  most  bright  intelligence,  until 

Witch.   Proceed. 

Man.  Oh!  I  but  thus  prolonged  my  words, 
Boasting  these  idle  attributes,  because 
As  I  approach  the  core  of  my  heart's  grief— 
But  to  my  task.     I  have  not  named  to  thee 
Father  or  mother,  mistress,  friend,  or  being, 
With  whom  I  wore  the  chain  of  human  ties; 

B2 


) 


***  MANFRED. 

If  I  had  such,  they  seem'd  not  such  to  me— 
Yet  there  was  one 

Witch.  Spare  not  thyself— proceed. 
Man.  She  was  like  me  in  lineaments— her 
eyes, 

Her  hair,  her  features,  all,  to  the  very  tone 
Even  of  her  voice,  they  said  were  like  to  mine;      , 
But  soften'd  all,  and  temper'd  into  beauty;  / 

She  had  the  same  lone  thoughts  and  wanderings', 
rhe  quest  of  hidden  knowledge,  and  a  mind  \ 

ro  comprehend  the  universe:  nor  these 
ilone,  but  with  them  gentler  powers  than  mine, 
Pity,  and  smiles,  and  tears— which  I  had  not;        ) 
Ind  tenderness— but  that  I  had  for  her;  v 

lumility— and  that  I  never  had.  ) 

ler  faults  were  mine— her  virtues  were  her 

own — 
loved  her,  and  destroy'd  her!  ] 

Witch.  With  thy  hand?  ' 

Man.  Not  with  my  hand,  but  heart— which 
broke  her  heart — 
t  gazed  on  mine,  and  withered.     I  have  shed 
Hood,   but  not  hers— and  yet  her    b.ood  was 

shed — 
saw — and  could  not  stanch  it. 
Witch.  And  for  this— 

l  being  of  the  race  thou  dost  despise, 
'he  order  which  thine  own  would  rise  above, 
lulling  With  us  and  ours,  thou  dost  forego 


MANFRED  35 

The  gifts  of  our  great  knowledge,  and  shrink'st 
back 

To  recreant  mortality Away! 

Man.  Daughter  of  Air!  I  tell  thee,  since  that 
hour — 
But  words  are  breath— look  on  me  in  my  sleep, 
Or  watch  my  watchings — Come  and  sit  by  me! 
My  solitude  is  solitude  no  more, 
But  peopled  with  the  Furies;— I  have  gnash'd 
My  teeth  in  darkness  till  returning  morn, 
Then  cursed  myself  till  sunset;— I  havepray'd 
For  madness  as  a  blessing — 'tis  denied  me. 
I  have  affronted  death — but  in  the  war 
Of  elements  the  waters  shrunk  from  me, 
And  fatal  things  pass'd  harmless — the  cold  hand 
Of  an  all-pitiless  demon  held  me  back, 
Back  by  a  single  hair,  which  would  not  break. 
In  phantasy,  imagination,  all 
The  affluence  of  my  soul — which  one  day  was 
A  Croesus  in  creation — I  plunged  deep, 
But,  like  an  ebbing  wave,  it  dash'd  me  back 
Into  the  gulf  of  my  unfathom'd  thought. 
I  plunged  amidst  mankind— Forgetfulness 
I  sought  in  all,  save  where  'tis  to  be  found, 
And  that  I  have  to  learn — my  sciences, 
My  long  pursued  and  super-human  art, 
Is  mortal  here— I  dwell  in  my  despair — 
And  live — and  live  for  ever. 

Witch.  It  may  be 


56  MANFRED. 

rhat  I  can  aid  thee. 

Man.  To  do  this  thy  power 

tfust  wake  the  dead,  or  lay  me  low  with  them. 
)o  so — in  any  shape — in  any  hour — 
Vith  any  torture — so  it  be  the  last. 

Witch.  That  is  not  in  my  province:  but  if 
thou 
Vilt  swear  obedience  to  my  will,  and  do 
ly  biddiDg-,  it  may  help  thee  to  thy  wishes. 

Man.  I  will  not  swear — Obey!  and  whom?  the 
spirits 
Vhose  presence  I  command,  and  be  the  slave 
>f  those  who  served  me — Never! 

Witch-.  Is  this  all? 

fast  thou  no  gentler  answer— Yet  bethink  thee, 
nd  pause  ere  thou  rejectest. 

Man.  I  have  said  it. 

Witch.  Enough! — I  may  retire  then — say— 
Man.  Retire! 

[The  Witch  disappear*. 
Man.  (alone.)  We  are  the  fools  of  time  and 

terror:     Days 
;eal  on  us  and  steal  from  us;  yet  we  live, 
oathing-  our  life,  and  dreading-  still  to  die. 
t  all  the  days  of  this  detested  yoke — 
his  vital  weight  upon  the  struggling  heart, 
rhich  sinks  with  sorrow,  or  beats  quick  with 

pain, 
p  joy  that  ends  in  agony  or  faintness — 


37 
MANFRED. 

In  all  the  days  of  past  and  future,  for 
In  life  there  is  no  present,  we  can  number 
How  few-how  less  than  few-wherem  tnesoul 
Forbears  to  pant  for  death,  and  yet  draws ;  bacK 
As  from  a  stream  in  winter,  though  the  cnill 
Be  but  a  moment's.     I  have  one  resource 
Still  in  my  science— I  can  call  the  dead, 
And  ask  them  what  it  is  we  dread  to  be; 
The  sternest  answer  can  but  be  the  Grave, 
And  that  is  nothing— if  they  answer  not— 
The  buried  Prophet  answered  to  the  Hag 
Of  Endor;  and  the  Spartan  Monarch  drew 
From  the  Byzantine  maid's  unsleeping  spirit 
An  answer  and  his  destiny— he  slew 
That  which  he  loved,  unknowing  what  he  slew, 
And  died  unpardon'd-though  he  call'd  in  aid 
The  Phyxian  Jove,  and  in  Phigalia  roused 
-Tbtf  Orcadian  Evocators  to  compel 
The  indignant  shadow  to  depose  her  wrath, 
Or  fix  her  term  of  vengeance— she  replied 
In  words  of  dubious  import,  but  fulfiU'd. 

■    . 
If  I  had  never  lived,  that  which  I  love 
Had  still  been  living;  had  I  never  loved, 
That  which  I  love  would  still  be  beautiful- 
Happy  and  giving  happiness.     What  is  she. 
What  is  she  now?-a  sufferer  for  my  sins— 
A  thing  I  dare  not  think  upon— or  nothing. 
Within  few  hours  I  shall  not  call  in  vain— 


38  MANFHED. 


Yet  in  this  hour  I  dread  the  thing  I  dare* 
Until  this  hour  I  never  shrunk  to  gaze 
On  spirit,  good  or  evil- now  I  tremble 
And  feel  a  strange  cold  thaw  upon  my  heart, 
■But  I  can  act  even  what  I  most  abhor, 
And    champion    human    fears— The'  night  ap. 
proaches.      - 

[Exit 
SCENE  III. 

The  Summit  of  the  Jungfrau  Mountain. 

Enter  First  Destiny. 
jThe  moon  is  rising  broad,  and  round,  and  bright- 
^nd  here  on  snows,  where  never  human  foot 
pf  common  mortal  trod,  we  nightly  tread, 
Mind  leave  no  traces;  o'er  the  savage  sea,' 
^he  glassy  ocean  of  the  mountain  ice, 
^e  skim  its  rugged  breakers,  which  'put  on 
fhe  aspect  of  a  tumbling  tempest's  foam 
frozen  in  a  moment-a  dead  whirlpool's  ima^e- 
Ind  this  most  steep  fantastic  pinnacle, 
fhe  fretwork  of  some  earthquake-where  the 
clouds 

luse  to  repose  themselves  in  passing  by- 
sacred  to  our  revels,  or  our  vigils; 
fere  do  I  wait  my  sisters,  on  our  way 


MANFRED.  39 

*To  the  Hall  of  Arimanes,  for  to-night 

Is  our  great  festival— 'tis  strange  they  come  not. 

A  voice  without,  singing.. 
The  Captive  Usurper, 

HurPd  down  from  the  throne, 
Lay  buried  in  torpor, 
Forgotten  and  lone; 
I  broke  through  his  slumbers, 

I  shivered  his  chain, 
I  leagued  him  with  numbers — 
He's  Tyrant  again! 
With  the  blood  of  a  million  he'll  answer  my  care. 
With  a  nation's  destruction— his  flight  and  despair. 

Second  Voice,  without. 
The  ship  sail'd  on,  the  ship  saiPd  fast, 
But  I  left  not  a  sail,  and  I  left  not  a  mast; 
There  is  not  a  plank  of  the  hull  or  the  deck, 
And  there  is  not  a  wretch  to  lament  o'er  his 

wreck; 
Save  one,  whom  I  held,  as  he  swam,  by  the  hair 
And  he  was  a  subject  well  worthy  my  care; 
A  traitor  on  land,  an  '  a  pirate  at  sea — 
But  I  saved  him  to  wreak  further  havoc  forme! 

First  Destiny,  ^answering. 
The  city  lies  sleeping; 
The  morn,  to  deplore  it, 


40  MANFRED. 

May  dawn  on  it  weeping: 

Sullenly,  slowly, 
The  black  plague  flew  o'er  it — 

Thousands  lie  lowly; 
Tens  of  thousands  shall  perish — 

The  living-  shall  fly  from 
The  sick  they  should  cherish; 

But  nothing- can  vanquish 
The  touch  that  they  die  from. 

Sorrow  and  ang-uish, 
And  evil  and  dread, 
Envelope  a  nation — 

The  blest  are  the  dead, 
Who  see  not  the  sig-ht 

Of  their  own  desolation. 
This  work  of  a  night— 
This  wreck  of  a  realm — this  deed  of  ray  doing- 
For  ag-es  I've  done,  and  shall  still  be  renewing! 

Enter  the  Second  and  Third  Destinies. 

The  Three. 
Our  hands  contain  the  hearts  of  men, 

Our  footsteps  are  their  graves; 
We  only  give  to  take  again 

The  spirits  of  our  slaves! 


First  Des.  Welcome! — Where's  Nemesis? 
Second  Des.  At  some  great  work; 


MANFRED.  41 

Sut  what  I  know  not,  for  my  hands  were  full. 
Third  Des.     Behold  she  cometh. 

Enter  Nemesis. 

First  Des.  Say,  where  hast  thou  heen? — 

Uly  sisters  and  thyself  are  slow  to-night. 

Nem.  I  was  detain'd  repairing  shattered  thrones, 
Marrying  fools,  restoring  dynasties, 
Avenging  men  upon  their  enemies, 
And  making  them  repent  their  own  revenge; 
Goading  the  wise  to  madness;  from  the  dull 
Shaping  out  oracles  to  rule  the  world 
Afresh,  for  they  were  waxiDg  out  of  date, 
And  mortals  dared  to  ponder  for  themselves, 
To  weigh  kings  in  the  balance,  and  to  speak 
Of  freedom,  the  forbidden  fruit. — Away! 
We  have  outstai&thehour — mount  we  our  clouds! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. 

The  HallofArimanes-^Arimanes  on  his  Throne, 
a  Globe  of  Fire,  surrounded  by  the  Spirits. 

Hymn  of  the  Spirits. 
Hail  to  our  Master!— Prince  of  Earth  and  Air!— 
Who  walks  the  clouds  and  waters — in  his  hand 


42 


MANFRED. 


The  sceptre  of  the  elements,  which  tear 

Themselves  to  chaos  at  his  high  command! 
He  breatheth— and  a  tempest  shakes  the  sea; 

He  speaketh— and  the  clouds  reply  in  thunder, 
He  gazeth— from  his  glance  the  sunbeams  flee; 

He  moveth— earthquakes  rend  the  world  asun- 
der. 
Beneath  his  footsteps  the  volcanos  rise: 

His  shadow  is  the  Pestilence;  his  path 
The  comets  herald  through  the  crackling  skies, 

And  planets  turn  to  ashes  at  his  wrath. 
To  him  War  offers  daily  sacrifice; 

To  him  Death  pays  his  tribute;  Life  is  his, 
With  all  its  infinite  of  agonies — 

And  his  the  spirit  of  whatever  is! 

Enter  the  Destinies  and  Nemesis. 

First  Des.   Glory  to  Arimanes!  on  the  earth 
His  power  increased— both  my  sisters  did 
His  bidding,  nor  did  I  neglect  my  duty! 

Second  Des.  Glory  to  Arimanes!  we  who  bow 
rhe  necks  of  men,  bow  down  before  his  throne! 

Third  Des.  Glory  to  Arimanes! — we  await 
[lis  nod! 

Nem.  Sovereign  of  Sovereigns!  we  are  thine, 
ind  all  that  liveth,  more  or  less,  is  ours, 
4.nd  most  things  wholly  so;  still  to  increase 
Dur  power  increasing  thine,  demands  our  care, 
\nd  wg  are  vigilant — Thy  late  commands 
Have  been  fulfilled  to  the  utmost. 


MANFRED. 


43 


Enter  Manfred. 
A  Spirit.  What  is  here? 

L  mortal!  —Thou  most  rash  and  fatal  wretch, 
$ow  down  and  worship! 

Second  Spirit.  I  do  know  the  man— 

i  Magian  of  great  power,  and  fearful  skill! 
Third  Spirit.    Bow  down  and  worship,  slave! 
What,  know'st  thou  not 
rhine  and  our  Sovereign.^  --Tremble  and  obey! 
All  the  Spirits.  Prostrate  thyself,  and  thy 
condemned  clay, 
Dhild  of  the  Earth!  or  dread  the  worst. 

Man.  I  know  it; 

And  yet  ye  see  I  kneel  not. 
Fourth  Spirit.  'Twill  be  taught  thee. 

Man.  'Tis  taught  already— many  a  night,  on 
the  earth, 
On  the  bare  ground,  have  I  bow'd  down  my  face, 
And  strew'd  my  head  with  ashes;  I  have  known 
The  fulness  of  humiliation,  for 
I  sunk  before  my  vain  despair,  and  knelt 
To  my  own  desolation. 

Fifth  Spirit.  Dost  thou  dare 

Refuse  to  Arimanes  on  his  throne 
What  +he  whole  earth  accords,  beholding  not 
The  terror  of  his  Glory— Crouch!  I  say. 

Man.  Bid  him  bow  down  to  that  which  is  above 
him, 
The  overruling  Infinite—the  Maker 


44  MANFRED. 

Who  made  him  not  for  worship — let  him  kneel 
And  we  will  kneel  together. 

The  Spirits.  Crush  the  worm! 

Tear  him  in  pieces!— 

First  Des.  Hence!  Avaunt! — he's  mine 

Prince  of  the  Powers  invisible!    This  man 
Is  of  no  common  order,  as  his  port 
And  presence  here  denote;  his  suffering's 
Have  been  of  an  immortal  nature,  like 
Our  own;  his  knowledge  and  his  powers  and  will, 
As  far  as  is  compatible  with  clay, 
Which  clogs  the  ethereal  essence,  have  been  such 
As  clay  hath  seldom  borne;  his  aspirations 
Have  been  beyond  the  dwellers  of  the  earth; 
And  they  have  only  taught  him  what  we  know— 
That  knowledge  is  not  happiness,  and  science 
But  an  exchange  of  ignorance  for  that 
Which  is  another  kind  of  ignorance. 
This  is  not  all — the  passions,  attributes 
Of  earth  and  heaven,  from  which  no  power,  nor 

being, 
Not  breath  from  the  worm  upwards  is  exempt, 
Have  pierced  his  heart;  and  in  their  consequence 
Made  him  a  thing,  which  I,  who  pity  not, 
STet  pardon  those  who  pity.     He  is  mine, 
ind  thine,  it  may  be — be  it  so,  or  not, 
So  other  Spirit  in  this  region  hath 
V  soul  like  his— or  power  upon  his  soul. 
Nem.  What  doth  he  here  then? 


MANFRED.  45 

First  Des.  Let  bim  aQSwer  that* 

Man.  Ye  know  what  I  have  known;  and  with- 
out power 
[  could  not  be  amongst  ye:  but  there  are 
Powers  deeper  still  beyond-I  come  in  quest 
Of  such,  to  answer  unto  what  I  seek. 

Nem.  What  wouldst  thou? 

Man.  Thou  canst  not  reply  to  me. 

Call  up  the  dead— my  question  is  for  them. 

Nem.  Great  Arimanes,  doth  thy  will  avouch 

The  wishes  of  this  mortal? 

Ari.  ^ea* 

Nem.  Whom  would'st  thou 

Uncharnel? 

M  an.         One  without  a  tomb— call  up 

Astarte. 

Nemesis. 

Shadow!  or  Spirit! 

Whatever  thou  art, 
Which  still  doth  inherit 

The  whole  or  a  part 
Of  the  form  of  thy  birth; 

Of  the  mould  of  thy  clay, 
Which  returned  to  the  earth, 

Reappear  to  the  day! 
Bear  what  thou  borest, 

The  heart  and  the  form, 
And  the  aspect  thou  worest 

.Redeem  from  the  worm. 


46 


MANFRED. 


Appear!— Appear!— Appear! 
Who  sent  thee  there  requires  thee  here. 
{The  Phantom  of  Astarte  rises  am 
stands  in  the  midst.) 
Man.  Can  this  be  death?  there's  bloom  upoi 
her  cheek; 
But  now  I  see  it  is  no  living  hue, 
But  a  strange  hectic— like  the  unnatural  red 
Which  Autumn  plants  upon  the  perish'd  leaf. 
It  is  the  same!     Oh,  God!  that  I  should  dread 
To  look  upon  the  same — Astarte! — No, 

I  cannot  speak  to  her — but  bid  her  speak 

Forgive  me  or  condemn  me. 

Nemesis. 
By  the  power  which  hath  broken 

The  grave  which  enthrall'd  thee, 
Speak  to  him  who  hath  spoken, 

Or  those  who  have  call'd  the! 

Man.  She  is  silent, 

And  in  that  silence  I  am  more  than  answered. 

Nem.  My  power  extends  no  further.     Prince 
of  air! 
It  rests  with  thee  alone — command  her  voice. 

Ari.  Spirit — obey  this  sceptre! 

Nem.  Silent  still! 

She  is  not  of  our  order,  but  belongs 
To  the  other  powers.    Mortal!  thy  quest  is  vain, 


MANFRED.  47 

And  we  are  baffled  also. 

Man.  Hear  me,  hear  me — 

istarte!  my  beloved!  speak  to  me: 
[  have  so  much  endured— so  much  endure — 
Look  on  me!  the  grave  hath  not  changed  thee 

more 
Than  I  am  changed  for  thee.     Thou  lovedst  me 
Too  much,  as  I  loved  thee:  we  were  not  made 
To  torture  thus  each  other,  though  it  were 
The  deadliest  sin  to  love  as  we  have  loved. 
Say  that  thou  loath'stme  not- that  I  do  bear 
This  punishment  for  both — that  thou  wilt  be 
One  of  the  blessed — and  that  I  shall  die, 
For  hitherto  all  hateful  things  conspire 
To  bind  me  in  existence— in  a  life 
Which  makes  me  shrink  from  immortality— 
A  future  like  the  past.     I  cannot  rest. 
I  know  not  what  1  ask,  nor  what  I  seek: 
I  feel  but  what  thou  art — and  what  I  am; 
And  I  would  hear  yet  once  before  I  perish 
The  voice  which  was  my  music—Speak  to  me! 
For  I  have  calPd  on  thee  in  the  still  night, 
Startled  the  slumbering  birds  from  the  hush'd 

boughs, 
And  woke  the  mountain  wolves,  and  made  the 

caves 
Acquainted  with  thy  vainly  echoed  name, 
Which  answered  me — many   things    answered 

me — 


48  MANFREB. 


Spirits  and  men— but  thou  wert  silent  all. 
Yet  speak  to  me!  I  have  outwatch'd  the  stars, 
And  gazed  o'er  heaven  in  vain  in  search  of  thee 
Speak  to  me!  I  have  wandered  o'er  the  earth 
And  never  found  thy  likeness — Speak  to  me! 
Look  on  the  fiends  around— they  feel  for  me: 
I  fear  them  not,  and  feel  for  thee  alone — 
Speak  to  me!  though  it  be  in  wrath; — but  say— 
I  reck  not  what — but  let  me  hear  thee  once— 
This  once— once  more! 

Phantom  of  Astarte.    Manfred! 

Man.  Say  on,  say  on— 

I  live  but  in  the  soumd— it  is  thy  voice! 

Phan.  Manfred!  To-morrow  ends  thine  earthlj 
ills. 
Farewell! 

Man.  Yet  one  word  more — am  I  forgiven? 

Phan.  Farewell! 

Man.  Say,  shall  we  meet  again? 

Phan.  Farewell! 

Man.  One  word  for  mercy!     Say,  thou  lovest 
me. 

Phan.  Manfred! 

[The  Spirit  of  Astarte  disappears. 

Nem.  She's  gone,  and  will  not  be  recall'd; 

Her  words  will  be  fulfill'd.     Return  to  the  earth. 

A  Spirit.  He  is  convulsed — This  is  to  be  a 
mortal 
And  seek  the  things  beyond  mortality. 


MANFRED.  49 

Another  Spirit.  Yet,  see,  he  mastereth  him- 
self, and  makes 
His  torture  tributary  to  his  will. 
Had  he  been  one  of  us  he  would  have  made 
An  awful  spirit. 

Nem.  Hast  thou  further  question 

Of  our  great  sovereign,  or  his  worshippers? 
Man.  None. 

Nem.  Then  for  a  time  farewell. 

Man.  We  meet  then!  Where?  On  the  earth? — 
Even  as  thou  wilt:  and  for  the  grace  accorded 
I  now  depart  a  debtor.     Fare  ye  well! 

[Exit  Manfield 
(Scene  closes.) 


END  OF  ACT  SECOND. 


ACT    III. 

SCENE  I. 

A  Hall  in  the  Castle  of  Manfred. 
Manfred  and  Herman. 

Man.  What  is  the  hour? 

Her.  It  wants  but  one  till  sunset, 
\.nd  promises  a  loyely  twilight. 

Man.  Say, 

ire  all  things  so  disposed  of  in  the  tower 
Is  I  directed? 

Her.  All,  my  lord,  are  ready; 

lere  is  the  key  and  casket. 

Man.  It  is  well: 

rhou  mayst  retire.  [Exit  Herman. 

Man.  (alone.)      There  is  a  calm  upon  me — 
[nexplicable  stillness!  which  till  now 
Did  not  belong  to  what  I  knew  of  life, 
[f  that  I  did  not  know  philosophy 
ro  be  of  all  our  vanities  the  motliest, 
rhe  merest  word  that  ever  fool'd  the  ear 
Prom  out  the  schoolman's  jargon,  I  should  deem 


MANFRED.  51 

The  golden  secret^  the  sought  "Kalon,"  found, 
And  seated  in  my  soul.     It  will  not  last, 
But  it  is  well  to  hare  known  it,  though  but  once: 
It  hath  enlarged  my  thoughts  with  a  new  sense, 
And  I  within  my  tablets  would  note  down 
That  there  is  such  a  feeling.     Who  is  there? 

Re-enter  Herman. 
My  lord,  the  abbot  of  St.  Maurice  craves 
To  greet  your  presence. 

Enter  the  Abbot  of  St.  Maurice. 
Abbot.  Peace  be  with  Count  Manfred! 
Man.  Thanks,  holy  father!  welcome  to  these 
walls; 
Thy  presence  honours  them,  and  blesseth  those 
Who  dwell  within  them. 

Abbot.  Would  it  were  so,  Count!— 

But  I  would  fain  confer  with  thee  alone. 
Man.  Herman,  retire.      What  would  my  rev- 
erend guest? 
Abbot.  Thus,  without  prelude: — Age  and  zeal, 
my  office, 
And  good  intent,  must  plead  my  privilege; 
Our  near,  though  not  acquainted  neighbourhood? 
May  also  be  my  herald.     Rumours  strange, 
And  of  unholy  nature,  are  abroad, 
Arid  busy  with  thy  name;  a  noble  name 


52  MANFRED. 

For  centuries;  may  he  who  bears  it  now 
Transmit  it  unimpair'd! 

Man.  Proceed, — I  listen. 

Abbot.  'Tis  said  thou  holdest  converse  with  the 
things 
Which  are  forbidden  to  the  search  of  man; 
That  with  the  dwellers  of  the  dark  abodes, 
The  many  evil  and  unheavenly  spirits 
Which  walk  the  valley  of  the  shade  of  death, 
Thou  communest.     I  know  that  with  mankind, 
Thy  fellows  in  creation,  thou  dost  rarely 
Exchange  thy  thoughts,  and  that  thy  solitude 
Is  as  an  anchorite's,  were  it  but  holy. 

Man.  And  what  are  they  who  do  avouch  these 
things? 

Abbot.  My  pious  brethren — the  scared  pea- 
santry— 
Even  thy  own  vassals — who  do  look  on  thee 
With  most  unquiet  eyes.     Thy  life's  in  peril. 

Man.  Take  it. 

Abbot.  I  come  to  save,  and  not  destroy— 
I  would  not  pry  into  thy  secret  soul; 
But  if  these  things  be  sooth,  there  still  is  time 
For  penitence  and  pity;  reconcile  thee 
With  the  true  church,  and  through  the  church  to 
heaven. 

Man.  I  hear  thee.    This  is  my  reply;  whate'er 
I  may  have  been,  or  am,  doth  rest  between 
Heaven  and  myself. — I  shall  not  choose  a  mortal 


MANFRED.  53 

To  be  my  mediator.     Have  I  sinn'd 
Against  your  ordinances?  prove  and  punish! 

Abbot.  My  son!  I  did  not  speak  of  punishment, 
But  penitence  and  pardon; —with  thyself 
The  choice  of  such  remains — and  for  the  last, 
Our  institutions  and  our  strong  belief 
Have  given  me  power  to  smooth  the  path  from  sin 
To  higher  hope  and  better  thoughts;  the  first 
I  leave  to  heaven — "  Vengeance  is  mine  alone!" 
So  saith  the  Lord,  and  with  all  humbleness 
His  servant  echoes  back  the  awful  word. 

Man.  Old  man!  there  is  no  power  in  holy  men, 
Nor  charm  in  prayer — nor  purifying  form 
Of  penitence — nor  outward  look— nor  fast — 
Nor  agony — nor,  greater  than  all  these, 
The  innate  tortures  of  that  deep  despair, 
Which  is  remorse  without  the  fear  of  hell, 
But  all  in  all  sufficient  to  itself 
Would  make  a  hell  of  heaven — can  exorcise 
From  out  the  unbounded  spirit,  the  quick  sense 
Of  its  own  sins,  wrongs,  sufferance,  and  revenge 
Upon  itself;  there  is  no  future  pang 
Can  deal  that  justice  on  the  self-condemn'd 
He  deals  on  his  own  soul. 

Abbot.  *         All  this  is  well; 

For  this  will  pass  away,  and  be  succeeded 
By  an  auspicious  hope,  which  shall  look  up 
With  calm  assurance  to  that  blessed  place, 
Which  all  who  seek  may  win,  whatever  be 


54  MANFRED. 

Their  earthly  errors,  so  they  be  atoned: 

And  the  commencement  of  atonement  is 

The  sense  of  its  necessity. — Say  on — 

And  all  our  church  can  teach  thee  shall  be  taught; 

And  all  we  can  absolve  thee,  shall  be  pardon' d. 

Man.  When  Rome's  sixth  emperor  was  near 
his  last, 
The  victim  of  a  self-inflicted  wound, 
To  shun  the  torments  of  a  public  death 
From  senates  once  his  slaves,  a  certain  soldier, 
With  show  of  loyal  pity,  would  have  stanch'd 
The  gushing-  throat  with  his  officious  robe; 
The  dying  Roman  thrust  him  back  and  said — 
Some  empire  still  in  his  expiring  glance, 
-'  It  is  too  late — is  this  fidelity?" 

Abbot.  And  what  of  this? 

Man.  I  answer  with  the  Roman — 

"It  is  too  late!" 

Abbot.  It  never  can  be  so, 

To  reconcile  thyself  with  thy  own  soul, 
And  thy  own  soul  with  heaven.     Hast  thou  no 

hope? 
'Tis  strange — even  those  who  do  despair  above, 
Yet  shape  themselves  some  phantasy  on  earth, 
To  which  frail  twig  they  cling,  like  drowning 
men. 

Man.  Ay — father!  I  have   had   those  earthly 
visions 
And  noble  aspirations  in  my  youth, 


MANFRED.  5i 

To  make  my  own  the  mind  of  other  men, 
The  enlightener  of  nations;  and  to  rise 
I  knew  not  whither— it  might  be  to  fall; 
But  fall,  even  as  the  mountain  cataract, 
Which  having  leapt  from  its  more  dazzling  height. 
Even  in  the  foaming  strength  of  its  abyss, 
(Which  casts  up  misty  columns  that  become 
Clouds  raining  from  the  re-ascended  skies,) 
Lies  low  but  mighty  still.— But  this  is  past, 
My  thoughts  mistook  themselves. 

Abbot.  And  wherefore  so? 

Man.  T  could  not  tame  my  nature  down;  for  he 
Must  serve  who  fain  would  sway — and  soothe— 

and  sue  — 
And  watch  all  time — and  pry  into  all  place — 
And  be  a  living  lie — who  would  become 
A  mighty  thing  amongst  the  mean,  and  such 
The  mass  are;  I  disdained  to  mingle  with 
A  herd,  though  to  be  leader — and  of  wolves. 
The  lion  is  alone,  and  so  am  I. 

Abbot.  And  why  not  live  and  act  with  othei 

men? 
Man.  Because  my  nature  was  averse  fron 
life; 
And  yet  not  cruel;  for  I  would  not  make, 
But  find  a  desolation: — like  the  wind, 
The  red-hot  breath  of  the  most  lone  Simoom, 
Which  dwells  but  in  the  desert,  and  sweeps  o'er 
The  barren  sands  which  bear  no  shrubs  to  blast, 


56  MANFRED. 

^nd  revels  o'er  their  wild  and  arid  waves, 
ind  seeketh  not,  so  that  it  is  not  sought, 
But  being  met  is  deadly;  such  hatk  been 
Fhe  course  of  my  existence;  but  there  came 
rhings  in  my  path  which  are  no  more. 

Abbot.  Alas! 

['gin  to  fear  that  thou  art  past  all  aid 
Prom  me  and  from  my  calling;  yet  so  young, 
[  still  would 

Man.  Look  on  me!  there  is  an  order 

3f  mortals  on  the  earth,  who  do  become 
Did  in  their  youth,  and  die  ere  middle  age, 
Without  the  violence  of  warlike  death; 
Some  perishing  of  pleasure — some  of  study- 
some  worn  with  toil — some  of  mere  weariness- 
some  of  disease — and  some  insanity — 
Vnd  some  of  withered,  or  of  broken  hearts; 
?or  this  last  is  a  malady  which  slays 
More  than  are  numbered  in  the  lists  of  Fate! 
raking  all  shapes,  and  bearing  many  names. 
Liook  upon  me!  for  even  of  all  these  things 
ITave  I  partaken;  and  of  all  these  things, 
3ne  were  enough;  then  wonder  not  that  I 
\.m  what  I  am,  but  that  I  ever  was, 
)r,  having  been,  that  I  am  still  on  earth. 

Abbot.  Yet,  hear  me  still 

Man.  Old  man!  I  do  respect 

rhine  order,  and  revere  thine  years;  I  deem 


MANFRED.  S7 

Thy  purpose  pious,  but  it  is  in  vain: 
Think  me  not  churlish;  I  would  spare  thyself, 
Far  more  than  me,  in  shunning"  at  this  time 
All  further  colloquy— and  so — farewell. 

[Exit  Manfred. 
Abbot.  This  should  have  been  a  noble  crea- 
ture; he 
Hath  all  the  energy  which  would  have  made 
A  goodly  frame  of  glorious  elements, 
•Had  they  been  wisely  mingled;  as  it  is, 
It  is  an  awful  chaos — light  and  darkness — 
And   mind    and    dust — and   passions  and  pure 

thoughts, 
Mix'd  and  contending-  without  end  or  order, 
!  All  dormant  or  destructive;  he  will  perish, 
And  yet  he  must  not;  I  will  try  once  more, 
For  such  are  worth  redemption;  and  my  duty 
Is  to  dare  all  thing-s  for  a  rig-hteous  end. 
I'll  follow  him— but  cautiously,  though  surely. 

[Exit  Abbot. 

\ 

SCENE  II. 

Another  Chamber. 

Manfred  and  Herman. 

Her.  My  Eord,  you  bade  me  wait  on  you  at 
sun-set: 
He  sinks  behind  the  mountain. 

^#    \    ***.    ;       c2 


) 


J8  MANFRED. 

Man.  Doth  he  so? 

[  will  look  on  him. 

[Manfred  advances  to  the  window  of  the  Hall. 
Glorious  Orb!  the  idol  \ 

Of  early  nature,  and  the  vigorous  race 
Of  undiseased  mankind,  the  giant  sons  / 

Of  the  embrace  of  angels,  with  a  sex 
More  beautiful  than  they,  which  did  draw  down 
The  erring  spirits  who  can  ne'er  return. — 
Most  glorious  orb!  that  wert  a  worship,  ere 
The  mystery  of  thy  making  was  reveal'd! 
Thou  earliest  minister  of  the  Almighty, 
Which  gladden'd,  on  their  mountain  tops,  the 
hearts  t 

Of  the  Chaldean  shepherds,  till  they  pour'd  J 
Themselves  in  orisons!  Thou  material  God!  I 
And  representative  of  the  Unknown —  / 

Who  chose  thee  for  his  shadow!  Thou  chief  star! 
Centre  of  many  stars!  which  mak'st  our  earth 
Endurable,  and  temperest  the  hues 
And  hearts  of  all  who  walk  within  thy  rays! 
Sire  of  the  seasons!  Monarch  of  the  climes, 
And  those  who  dwell  in  them!  for  near  or  far, 
Our  inborn  spirits  have  a  tint  of  thee,  ' 

Even  as  our  outward  aspects; — thou^ost  rise, 
And  shine,  and  set  in  glory.     Fare  thee  well! 
I  ne'er  shall  see  thee  more.     As  my  first  glance) 
Of  love  and  wonder  was  for  thee,  then  take 
Mv  latest  look:  thou  wilt  not  beam  on  one 


MANFRED.  59 

To  whom  the  gifts  of  life  and  warmth  have  been 

Of  a  more  fatal  nature.     He  is  gone: 

( I  follow.         *2~Z 

f *  [Exit  Manfred. 

SCENE  III. 

The  Mountains.— The  Castle  of  Manfred  at  somi 
distance.— A  Terrace  before  a  Tower.— Time, 
Twilight. 

*  Herman,   Manuel,    and   other   dependants  o 
Manfred. 

Her.  Tis  strange  enough;  night  after  nighl 
for  years, 
He  hath  pursued  long  vigils  in  this  tower, 
Without  a  witness.     I  have  been  within  it,— 
So  have  we  all  been  oft-times;  but  from  it, 
Or  its  contents,  it  were  impossible 
To  draw  conclusions  absolute,  of  aught  * 
His  studies  tend  to.     To  be  sure,  there  is 
One  chamber  where  none  enter;  I  would  give 
The  fee  of  what  I  have  to  come  thesef  three  yeai 
To  pore  upon  its  mysteries. 

Manuel.  'Twere  dangerous; 

Content  thyself  with  what  thou  knowest  already 

Her.  Ah!  Manuel!  thou  art  elderly  and  wis 


50  MANFRED. 

ind  could'st  say  much;  thou  hast  dwelt  within  the 

castle — 
rlow  many  years  is't? 

Manuel.  Ere  Count  Manfred's  birth, 
:  served  his  father,  whom  he  nought  resembles. 

Her.  There  be  more  sons  in  like  predicament. 
Jut  wherein  do  they  differ? 

Manuel.  I  speak  not 

)f  features  or  of  form,  but  mind  and  habits: 

}ount  Sigismund  was  proud, — but  gay  and  free, 

L  warrior  and  a  reveller;  he  dwelt  not 
Vith  books  and  solitude^  nor  made  the  night 
i  gloomy  vigil,  but  a  festal  time, 
»terrier  than  day;  he  did  not  walk  the  rocks 
Lnd  forests  like  a  wolf,  nor  turn  aside 
•Vom  men  and  their  delights. 

Her.  Beshrew  the  hour, 
lut  those  were  jocund  times!  I  would  that  such 
Vould  visit  the  old  walls  again;  they  look 
is  if  they  had  forgotten  them. 

Manuel.  These  walls 

dust  chaDge  their  chieftain  first.     Oh!  I  have 

seen 
ome  strange  things  in  them,  Herman. 

Her.  Come,  be  friendly; 

elate  me  some  to  while  away  our  watch: 

we  heard  thee  darkly  speak  of  an  event 

fhich  happened  hereabouts,  by  this  same  tower. 

Manuel.  That  was  a  night  indeed;  I  do  re- 
member 


MANFRED.  61 

'Twas  twilight,  as  it  may  be  now,  and  such 
Another  evening; — yon  red  cloud,  which  rests 
On  Eigher's  pinnacle,  so  rested  then, — 
So  like  that  it  might  be  the  same;  the  wind 
Was  faint  and  gusty,  and  the  mountain  snows 
Began  to  glitter  with  the  climbing  moon; 
Count  Manfred  was,  as  now,  within  his  tower, — 
How  occupied,  we  knew  not,  but  with  him 
The  sole  companion  of  his  wanderings 
And  watchings — her,  whom  of  all  earthly  things 
That  lived,  the  only  thing  he  seem'd  to  love,— 
As  he,  indeed,  by  blood  was  bound  to  do, 

The  lady  Astarte,  his 

Hush!  who  comes  here? 

Enter  the  Abbott. 

Abbot.  Where  is  your  master? 

Her.  Yonder,  in  the  tower. 

Abbot.  I  must  speak  with  him. 

Manuel.  'Tis  impossible^ 

He  is  most  private,  and  must  not  be  thus 
Intruded  on. 

Abbot.  Upon  myself  I  take 

The  forfeit  of  my  fault,  if  fault  there  be — 
But  I  must  see  him. 

Her.  Thou  hast  seen  him  once 

This  eve  already. 

Abbot.  Herman!  I  command  thee, 


52  MANFRED. 

£nock,  and  apprize  the  Count  of  my  approach. 

Her.  We  dare  not. 

Abbot.  Then  it  seems  I  must  he  herald 
3f  my  own  purpose. 

Manuel.  Reverend  father,  stop — 

[  pray  you  pause. 

Abbot.  Why  so? 

Manuel.  But  step  this  way, 

And  I  will  tell  you  further. 

[ExuenL 

SCENE  IV. 

Interior  of  the  Tower. 

Manfred  alone. 

Man.  The  stars  are  forth,  the  moon  above  the 
tops  ^__ 

Of  the  snow-shining-  mountains. — Beautiful! 
I  linger  yet  with  Nature,  for  the  night 
Hath  heen  to  me  a  more  familiar  face 
Than  that  of  man;  and  in  her  starry  shade 
Of  dim  and  solitary  loveliness, 
I  learn'd  the  language  of  another  world. 
I  do  remember  me,  that  in  my  youth, 
When  I  was  wandering,— upon  such  a  night 
I  stood  within  the  Coloseum's  wall, 
I'Midst  the  chief  relics  of  almighty  Rome; 


MANFRED.  63 


The  trees  which  grew  along  the  broken  arches 
Waved  dark  in  the  blue  midnight,  and  the  stars 
Shone  through  the  rents  of  ruin;  from  afar 
The  watchdog  bayed  beyond  the  Tiber;  and 
More  near  from  out  the  Caesars'  palace  came 
The  owl's  long  cry,  and,  interruptedly, 
Of  distant  sentinels  the  fitful  song 
Begun  and  died  upon  the  gentle  wind. 
Some  cypresses  beyond  the  time-worn  breach 
Appeared  to  skirt  the  horizon,  yet  they  stood 
Within  a  bowshot—where  the  Caesars  dwelt, 
And  dwell  the  tuneless  birds  of  night,  amidst 
A  grove  which  springs  through  levell'd  battle 

ments, 
And  twines  its  roots  with  the  imperial  neartns, 
Ivy  usurps  the  laurel's  place  of  growth;— 
But  the  gladiators'  bloody  Circus  stands, 
A  noble  wreck  in  ruinous  perfection! 
While  Caesar's  chambers,  and  the  Augustan  hall 
Grovel  on  earth  in  indistinct  decay. — 
And  thou  didst  shine,  thou  rolling  moon,  upon 
All  this,  and  cast  a  wide  and  tender  light, 
Which  soften'd  down  the  hoar  austerity 
Of  rugged  desolation,  and  filPd  up, 
As  'twere,  anew,  the  gaps  of  centuries; 
Leaving  that  beautiful  which  still  was  so, 
And  making  that  which  was  not,  till  the  place 
Became  religion,  and  tha  heart  ran  o'er 
With  silent  worship  of  the  great  of  old! — 


64  MANFRED. 

The  dead,  but  sceptred  sovereigns,  who  still  rule 

Out  spirits  from  their  urns. 

'Twas  such  a  night! 
Tis  strange  that  I  recall  it  at  this  time; 
But  I  have  found  our  thoughts  take  wildest  flight 
Even  at  the  moment  when  they  should  array 
rhemselves  in  pensive  order. 

Enter  the  Abbot. 

Abbot.  My  good  Lord! 

crave  a  second  grace  for  this  approach; 
Jut  yet  let  not  my  humble  zeal  offend 
Jy  its  abruptness— all  it  hath  of  ill 
tecoils  on  me;  its  good  in  the  effect 
lay  light  upon  your  head— could  I  say  heart— 
"ould  I  touch  that,  with  words  or  prayers,  I 

should 
Recall  a  noble  spirit  which  hath  wandered; 
»ut  is  not  yet  all  lost. 

Man.  Thou  know'st  me  not; 

ly  days  are  numbered,  and  my  deeds  recorded: 
^etire,  or  'twill  be  dangerous — Away! 
;  Abbot.  Thou  dost  not  mean  to  menace  me? 

Man.  Not  I; 

Simply  tell  thee  peril  is  at  hand, 
pd  would  preserve  thee. 
[Abbot.  What  dost  mean? 


MANFRED.  65 

Man.  Look.there! 

What  dost  thou  see? 

Abbot.  Nothing. 

Man.  Look  there,  I  say, 

And  steadfastly; — now  tell  me  what  thou  seest? 

Abbot.  That  which  should  shake  me, — but  I 
fear  it  not — 
I  see  a  dusk  and  awful  figure  rise 
Like  an  infernal  god  from  out  the  earth; 
His  face  wrapt  in  a  mantle,  and  his  form 
Robed  as  with  angry  clouds;  he  stands  between 
Thyself  and  me — but  I  do  fear  him  not. 

Man.  Thou  hast  no  cause — he  shall  not  harm 
thee — but 
His  sight  may  shock  thine  old  limbs  into  palsy. 
I  say  to  thee— Retire! 

Abbot.  And,  I  reply — 

Never — till  I  have  battled  with  this  fiend — 
What  doth  he  here? 

Man.  Why— ay— what  doth  he  here? 

I  did  not  send  for  him, — he  is  unbidden. 

Abbot.  Alas!  lost  mortal!  what  with  guests 
like  these 
Hast  thou  to  do?  1  tremble  for  thy  sake; 
Why  doth  he  gaze  on  thee,  and  thou  on  him? 
Ah!  he  unveils  bis  aspect;  on  his  brow 
The  thunder-scars  are  graven;  from  his  eye 
Glares  forth  the  immortality  of  hell — 
Avaunt!— — 


66 


MANFRED. 


Man.         Pronounce — what  is  thy  mission? 
Spirit.  Come! 

Abbot.  What  art  thou,  unknown  being?  an- 
swer!—speak! 
Spirit.  The  genius  of  this  mortal. — Come!  *tis 

time. 
Man.  I  am  prepared  for  all  things,  but  deny 
Phe  power  which  summons  me.     Who  sent  thee 
-here? 
Spirit.  Thou'lt  know  anon — Come!  come! 
Man.  I  have  commanded 

rhings  of  an  essence  greater  far  than  thine, 
ind  striven  with  thy  masters.     Get  thee  hence! 
Spirit.  Mortal!  thine  hour  is  come — Away! 

I  say. 
Man.  I  knew,  and  know  my  hour  is  come,  but 
not 
ro  render  up  my  soul  to  such  as  thee; 
iway!  I'll  die  as  I  have  lived — alone. 
Spirit.  Then  I  must  summon  up  my  brethren. 
Rise! 

[Other  Spirits  rise  up. 
Abbot.  Avaunt!  ye  evil  ones! — Avaunt!  I  say, 
ife  have  no  power  where  piety  hath  power, 

ind  I  do  charge  ye  in  the  name 

Spirit.  Old  man! 

iVe  know  ourselves,  our  mission,  and  thine  order; 
iVaste  not  thy  holy  words  on  idle  uses, 
t  were  in  vain;  this  man  is  forfeited. 


MANFRED.  67 

Once  more  I  summon  him- —Away!  away! 

Man.  I  do  defy  ye,— though  I  feel  my  soul 
Is  ebbing  from  me,  yet  I  do  defy  ye; 
Nor  will  I  hence,  while  I  have  earthly  breath 
To  breathe  my  scorn  upon  ye — earthly  strength 
To  wrestle,  though  with  spirits;  what  ye  take 
Shall  be  ta'en  limb  by  limb. 

Spirit.  Reluctant  mortal! 

Is  this  the  Magian  who  would  so  pervade 
The  world  invisible,  and  make  himself 
Almost  our  equal? — Can  it  be  that  thou 
Art  thus  in  love  with  life?  the  very  life 
Which  made  thee  wretched! 

Man.  Thou  false  fiend,  thou  liest! 

My  life  is  in  its  last  hour, — that  I  know, 
Nor  would  redeem  a  moment  of  that  hour; 
I  do  not  combat  against  death,  but  thee 
And  thy  surrounding  angels;  my  past  power 
Was  purchased  by  no  compact  with  thy  crew, 
But  by  superior  science — penance — daring — 
And  length  of  watching — strength  of  mind— ant 

skill 
In  knowledge  of  our  fathers— when  the  earth 
Saw  men  and  spirits  walking  side  by  side, 
And  gave  ye  no  supremacy:  I  stand 
Upon  my  strength — I  do  defy — deny — 
Spurn  back,  and  scorn  ye! — 

Spirit.  But  thy  many  crime 

Have  made  thee 


68  MANFRED. 

Man.  What  are  they  to  such  as  thee? 

Must  crimes  be  punish'd  but  by  other  crimes, 
And  greater  criminals? — Back  to  thy  hell! 
Thou  hast  no  power  upon  me,  that  I  feel; 
Thou  never  shalt  possess  me,  that  I  know: 
What  I  have  done  is  done;  I  bear  within 
A  torture  which  could  nothing-  gain  from  thine: 
The  mind  which  is  immortal  makes  itself 
Requital  for  its  good  or  evil  thoughts — 
Is  its  own  origin  of  ill  and  end — 
And  its  own  place  and  time — its  innate  sense, 
When  stripp'd  of  this  mortality,  derives 
No  colour  from  the  fleeting  things  without; 
But  is  absorb'd  in  sufferance  or  in  joy, 
Born  from  the  knowledge  of  its  own  desert. 
Thou  didst  not  tempt  me,  and  thou  couldst  not 

tempt  me; 
[  have  not  been  thy  dupe,  nor  am  thy  prey — 
But  was  my  own  destroyer,  and  will  be 
My  own  hereafter. — Back,  ye  baffled  fiends! 
The  hand  of  death  is  on  me — but  not  yours! 

[The  Demons  disappear. 

Abbot.  Alas!  how  pale  thou  art — thy  lips  are 
white — 
A.nd  thy  breast  heaves — and  in  thy  gasping  throat 
Hie  accents  rattle — Give  thy  prayers  to  heaven- 
Pray — albeit  but  in  thought,— but  die  not  thus. 

Man.  'Tis  over— my  dull  eyes  can  fix  thee  not; 
But  all  things  swim  around  me,  and  the  earth 


MANFRED.  69 

Heaves  as  it  were  beneath  me.  Fare  thee  well — 

Give  me  thy  hand. 

[Manfred  expires. 
Abbot.         Cold— -cold — even  to  the  heart- 
But  yet  one  prayer — alas!  how  fares  it  with  thee?— 
He's  gone — his  soul  hathta'en  its  earthless  flight- 
Whither?  I  dread  to  think— but  he  is  gone. 


NOTES. 


Note  1,  page  29,  line  4,  from  bottom. 
•the  sunbow's  rays  still  arch 


The  torrent  -with  the  many  hues  of  heaven. 

This  iris  is  formed  by  the  rays  of  the  sun  over  the 
lower  part  of  the  Alpine  torrents:  it  is  exactly  like  a 
rainbow,  come  down  to  pay  a  visit,  and  so  close  that 
you  may  walk  into  it: — this  effect  lasts  till  noon. 

Note  2,  page  33,  line  18. 

He  who  from  out  their  fountain  dwellings  raised 
Eros  and  Anteros,  at  Gadara. 

The  philosopher  lamblicus.  The  story  of  the  rai- 
sing of  Eros  and  Anteros  may  be  found  in  his  life,  by 
Eunapius.     It  is  well  told. 

Note  3,  page  37,  line  21. 

— she  replied 

In  "words  of  dubious  importt  but  fulfilled. 


72  NOTES. 

rhe  story  of  Pausanias,  king  of  Sparta,  (who  com- 
manded the  Greeks  at  the  hattle  of  Platea,  and  after- 
wards perished  for  an  attempt  to  betray  the  Lacede- 
monians) and  Cleonice,  is  told  in  Plutarch's  life  of 
Cimon;  and  in  the  Laconics  of  Pausanias  the  Sophist, 
in  his  description  of  Greece. 

Note  4,  page  58,  line  7. 

the  giant  sons 
Of  the  embrace  of  angels. 

"  That  the  Sons  of  God  saw  the  daughters  of  men, 
that  they  were  fair,"  &c. 

"  There  were  giants  on  the  earth  in  those  days, 
and  also  after  that,  when  the  Sons  of  God  came  in 
unto  the  daughters  of  men:  and  they  bare  children 
to  them,  the  same  became  mighty  men,  which  were 
of  old,  men  of  renown." 

Genesis,  ch.  vi.  verses  2  and  4. 


THE  END. 


w. 


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